Bailey and the Dresses
by Liaska
Summary: She's the farm girl on the run! Bailey stumbles upon a chest filled with three beautiful dresses and masquerades at the Midwinter Balls, where romance awaits her with our beloved Merric, and trouble when Owen falls. And cat-fights with superficial nobles!
1. The Chest

Bailey and the Dresses 

**Disclaimer**:  This whole story is based in Tamora Pierce's world, with all characters belonging to her, with the exception of Bailey and Jophad.

**Chapter One**  _The Chest_

Welcome, adventurers, to the twisted wasteland that is my mind.  Alas, you must turn back now, or be forever trapped within these walls.  Go on, get.

     No?  You're staying?

     Well then.  I suppose some company wouldn't be so bad to the places that I'm going.  Where are _we_ going?  Don't ask me- I'm heading towards the edge of a forest, just off the road that leads to Corus, the capital city.  May I never end up there.  It would almost be as bad as going back home.  Back to Father.

     Ho, what's that? Something big has caught my eye.  It's square and wooden and leaning against a tree, not twenty paces to my right.  I walk over purposefully, savouring this feeling of direction, like, I'm finally going somewhere, and I know where it is.  I don't care if it's only a few seconds away.  My boots crunch over the muddy snow.  It's a sunny day, though, and I keep my hood up to stop sunburn. 

     I stand over the box, hands on hips and a quizzical expression on face.  It's a chest.  An overturned chest.  I bend down- but not too far down, for there is not a lot of me to bend- and set the chest the right way over.  Snow slips off its curved lid.  Something golden and round is attached to a latch on its front.

     Ah.  A lock.  Something shiny is on the ground just near it.

     Ah.  A key.  Disturbingly convenient.  But why shouldn't my luck change, for once?  

     I hope it fits.  I slot it in.   The lock clicks and springs open. I slowly lift the lid.  It MUST be treasure.  C'mon treasure.

     Woe, 'tis not treasure.  'Tis cloth.  Cloth?  Cloth!  How infuriating.  Is this some sort of sign from the gods that I must become a dressmaker?  I could just imagine it.

     BAILEY, Mithros would say,  THIS IS A SIGN FROM US GODS THAT YOU MUST BECOME A DRESSMAKER.

     To the Death Realms with that idea.

     I pinch the red material that sits on the top, and hold it up for my inspection- then almost drop it in surprise.  This ain't no ordinary cloth- it's a dress.  A beautiful, no, _magnificent_ dress.  I've never seen anything like it.  And I see more of them in the chest.

     BAILEY, WE'VE CHANGED OUR MINDS: WE WANT YOU TO SELL THESE AND BECOME RICH AND PROSPEROUS INSTEAD.

     I start laughing.  What a thrill!  From now on, my life is going to be different.  Yes, very different indeed!  I place the red dress down with all the life-changing respect that it deserves, and admire the other two; a blue and a green.  They have perfect stitching and wondrous patterns.  They feel smooth and welcoming.  Gods, they even smell good!  Like morning fresh grass.

      Now I'm twirling around, doing my little dance with the green dress in my arms.

     "Oh, what beautiful world it is!  I love this place!"

     I spin and leap and cheer.  Eventually I tire myself out: it's the safest way to go when I get excited.  Perhaps there are even more things in the chest.  I plomp down with the chest between my knees and sift through the material.  Tucked in a corner is a little compartment.  I open it up.  I squeal.  Jewellery!  A fortune of the stuff.  I gather a pile of it up in my hands and kiss it.  

     This is almost unfair.  It's too easy.  Stuff like this isn't suppose to happen to farm girls like me.  I mean, I'm going to be rich, live in a mansion!  Even have my own servants, and cooks, and I'd never have to feed the chooks or milk the cows again.

     Suddenly I'm scared.  What if I'm robbed?  Beaten?  Killed?  I look down at my new life.  There are people who would do anything to get their hands on this.  I sigh and put the jewellery back.  I lie down in the snow and chew my lip.  I'm getting wet.  _What to do_?

     It's not long before I'm sitting up again, running the blue dress against my fingers.  It's calling to me.  _Put me on_, it's saying.  _Wear me_.

     Alright.

     I stand and take the dress behind a particularly large tree.  I shed my dull, muddy peasant clothes and begin to put on the blue dress.  It's a little more difficult than I expected.  I put my head up through the middle, but there are too many skirts and tidbits that I keep entangling myself in.  Finally I give up and just step into in, slowly drawing the tight bodice over my waist.  I'm holding my breath, and release it when I successfully get my arms through the sleeves without ripping anything.  Phew. What I'd do for a mirror right now.  I comb my fingers though my rough, long brown hair that's almost the same shade as my hazel eyes.  I'd be quite a sight.  A messy person in a dress like this!  I sway my body from side to side, admiring the way my dress flows.  _My_ dress.  I hold my skirts up from the reach of the snow and go back to my chest.  I crouch before it, looking for a necklace. 

     _Whinny_.  

     What was that!  That sounded like a horse.  I look at the road.  A few hundred meters away I spot the shape of a horse and cart, heading west, towards Corus, towards me.

     I look back at the chest.  This cart is an opportunity that may not come up again.  Not in this season.  I fetch my peasant dress and stuff it in- for once I've sold the dresses and jewellery, I am going to have to have _something _to wear, but only for a very short time, of course, before I get more suitable clothes for someone who is rich and prosperous.  I lock the chest and slip the key in the front of my dress.  It should be fairly safe there, I hope.  I grab a handle on one side of the chest and drag it behind me as I make for the road, using my spare hand to hold my skirts up.

     This thing is quite heavy, I soon realise.  The cart is about to drive past, and I haven't even made it to the road.  Much to my relief, the horse slows and stops.  A young man hops down from the front seat and jogs to me.

     I let the chest drop and shake my sore arm.  It's time for a bit of acting.  I mightn't be groomed like a noble, but at least I'm dressed like one.

     The man stops before me and exercises an awkward bow.  This feels so strange.  He has short, windswept brown hair, a bit darker than mine.

     "My lady," he says, "how may I be of assistance?"

     "I'm heading to Corus," I say, sticking my chin out.  I probably look like an idiot.  "My carriage was attacked by bandits, and I only just managed to escape with my luggage.  Would you be so good as to take me to the city?"

     "Of course!  It's just where I was heading.  Please, allow me to help you with that-"  he steps past me and grabs one handle of the chest.  Instinctively, I pick up the other handle to help.  He gives me a strange look and I drop it instantly.

    Idiot.  I meant to be a posh rich lady.  I turn on my heel and flick my hair back over my shoulder.  I await the young man at the side of the cart whilst he struggles the chest onto the back of his cart.  He springs into the driver's seat and leans down to help me up.  Once seated, I smooth out my skirts.  I'm the biggest fake ever to walk this earth.  

     The man flicks the reins.  "Get up!"

     The city.  Wow.  What can I say?  It's big.  There a so many houses!  So many people!  I didn't know there were so many of us.  Gods almighty.  I just got a glimpse of  the castle.  It's _huge_.  Since when could man make such things?

     "The castle is stunning, isn't it?"  I breathe to Jophad, the driver.  Along the way here we talked.  He's quite nice.

     "The castle?"  He says, cocking an eyebrow.  "My lady is mistaken.  That's just one of the mansions."  

     _Just_ one of the mansions?

     He rounds a corner into a less crowded street.  He points straight ahead.  "_That_ is the castle."

     My breath catches and I grip my skirts.  "Oh," I say calmly.  And I thought that mansion had been big!  The castle is about ten times the size.  Bigger!  It's so glorious, and so...scary.  Oppressive, striking and frightening, all rolled up into one gargantuan structure. And why are we driving towards it?  

     It hadn't taken me long to realise I shouldn't ask questions.  I'm supposed to know all this stuff.  We had already driven through what I assumed to be the market.  It had left me wide-eyed.  That's where I 'wanted' to go, too.  I sigh.

     Jophad mistakes me.  "I envy you," he says.  "I wish I was staying there."

     Staying there?  At the mar- oh, he must be talking about the castle.  

     The castle!  

     "I'm staying at the castle?" I ask without thinking.  

     He laughs.  He sees me frowning and turns the laughs into coughs.  "Meaning no disrespect, my lady," he says finally, "but where else?"

     "Oh.  Oh, my...mansion of course," I say, waving a hand at the estates.  "But I suppose the castle will be adequate."

     He turns his head, but I still see the grin spreading across his face.

     Ungrateful swine.  I should- oh gods.  Did I just think what I think I thought?  Half-hearted or no, I hope I won't let this role get to me.  It's just...I've never felt like this before.  It's strange.  Yes, a very peculiar feeling indeed.  What do you call it?  I'm respected?  Is that it?

      Nevertheless, it's time to bring myself back down to earth.  I'm here to sell these dresses, become rich and prosperous, and...leave?  I shake my head.  I am a fool.

     "Hey Jophad," I say, tapping his arm.

     He turns, expression blank.  "Yes, my lady?"

     I hold out my hand.  He frowns at it.  I grin and pick up his hand, and shake it.  "Thank you for your assistance.  I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't come along."

     He looks surprised.  "My lady, I did only what any other soul would have done.  It has been a pleasure."

     I smile crookedly and hand him a golden ring that I had taken from the chest hours ago.

     He stares at it, then at me.  "My lady.  I- do you know what this is worth?"

     "Of course I do," I lie, biting back apprehension.  How much _had_ I just giving him?  "You deserve it." 

     He shakes his head, but not in disagreement.  More at the foolishness of nobles.  He sends his horse into a trot, driving us straight towards the castle gates.  I start to sink in my seat  the closer we get.  

     Just before the gates I say, "Stop!"  

     Jophad pulls back on the reins and we come to a halt.

     "Th-thank you, Jophad.  I shall walk from here."

     "But, my lady..."

     "But nothing, Jophad," I say.  "I want to get out here."

     "What of your chest?"

     Indeed.  What of my chest?  I suppose I could ask Jophad to mind it while I look for somewhere to sell the dresses.  But...what if he takes it?

     Jophad wouldn't take it!

     How long have I known him for, though?

     Jophad is a good man.  He wouldn't touch it.  Especially since I gave him the golden ring.  He's loyal.

     The argumentative part of my mind subsides.  

     "Alright, Jophad.  Is there somewhere you could wait while I have a look around the city?  I am eager to explore.  Because as you've already guessed, I have not been here before."

     "I could wait right here, if it pleases my lady."

     "Excellent!  I'll be back before dark."

     He looks at me, frowning.  He seems troubled.

     I almost laugh.  "What is it?"

     He blinks.  "What?  Oh...nothing.  Except- I would not wish to damper my lady's day- but...there a thieves and...ruffians lurking about the streets.  Not to mention you'd catch your death of cold."

     I tilt my head to one side.  That's about the nicest thing anyone has said to me.  He's _worried_.  That's so sweet.

     "If it makes you feel better then, my friend, perhaps you might take me to a dressmaker's shop?"  The idea came to me as I spoke.  Surely they would buy dresses at one of those.  I could just tell Jophad I have other dresses for me at the palace.

      "I know just the place," he says.  "She's the best dressmaker in the city.  Used to work for the Protector of the Small."

      "Really?"  I say, impressed.

      He sends the horse forward.  "Yes, my lady.  I don't suppose you've ever heard the tale of Balor's Needle?"

      "I don't believe I have."

     Jophad goes on to tell me how Lady Keladry saved her maid from the tower instead of attending the tests.  I listen, enthralled.  Jophad is quite the storyteller.

     We reach the bustling shop.  I step in.  Jophad waits outside.  REAL noble ladies are in here- all standing in small groups and chatting.  A doorway leads to a back room where I see some women sewing.  Another woman is serving at the counter, but she is occupied.  I step over to a shelf with folded material and run my fingers across the finery.

     "Excuse me, I don't believe we've met."

     The voice is directed at me.  I turn to find a pretty, black-haired lady in a peach dress smiling at me.

     "Oh," I say ingeniously, before I can get my bearings.  "I am Bailey of Southsea," I tell her, using the same title I had told Jophad.  "And you must be..."

     "Moselle of Mountainpass," she offers, battering her painted eyelids.

     I hold out my hand to her.  "It's a pleasure to meet you."

     She doesn't move, just looks down her nose at my pro-offered hand.  "What do you want me to do," she asks, "kiss it?"

     A group of ladies behind her burst into merry laughter.  They all sound exactly like one another.  Suddenly I get the feeling this wasn't meant to be a friendly encounter.

     I ignore the group and fix my eyes on Moselle.  I smile sweetly at her.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  You must not know of Southsea traditions.  Here..."  I take her hand, "let me show you." I shake it.  And I mean shake it.  Her whole arm flops and she almost loses her posture.  Almost.

     I drop her arm.  She stares back at me, unfazed.  "And I suppose rotten hair is a tradition of Southsea, too, then."

     Moselle's little fan club laughs.  

     I glare at Moselle.  That little wench just insulted _my_ Southsea.  Nobody, and I mean nobody insults my home, even if it is just an imaginary place.  And besides, s'not my fault I haven't had the opportunity to wash my hair.  Some people just don't have all the luxuries of a stuck up, wicked, evil little- uh oh, better reply.

     "And I suppose rotten manners is a tradition of Mountainpass," I say.

     She laughs gleefully.  "Is that the best you can come up with, little girl?  Or perhaps you'll need until tonight's Midwinter Ball before you can make up a more _worthy_ reply."

     I admit: it had been a pretty bad reply.  What's wrong with me?  I should be able to do better than that!  "I look forward to seeing you," I say.  "It won't be very hard finding you- all I have to look out for is the girl with the 'bed me' sign stuck on her chest."

     Her jaw drops, and I don't wait around for a comeback.  I turn on my heel, snapping my head around so that my 'rotten' hair slaps her in the face.  That'll show her.  I half expect Moselle to come up and rip the hair from my scalp, but only silence follows me out the door.  I jump onto Jophad's cart, radiating my excitement.  I just had a bitch fight with a noble!  

    What?  I warned you at the start I had a twisted mind.  You'd be amazed.

     "Where to now, my lady?"  Jophad asks.

     "To the castle, faithful driver," I say rather dramatically.  "Onwards!"

     He grins from ear-to-ear and cracks his whip.  "Forward, mighty steed," he cries.

     The horse doesn't exactly rise to the occasion.  He snorts and pulls us away.

     Once the castle comes into view, I sober.  So.  It has begun.  Not entirely of my own choice, I have started a masquerade second only to that of Alanna the Lioness'.  I will live in the castle and pretend to be a noble.  If I don't turn up, then Moselle will think I backed down.  I am way too proud to let something like that happen.  But not only that, I'm not one to turn down trouble.  Oh, what would the nobles think if they found out that Bailey of Southsea was just Bailey-nobody from a farm.

     But they aren't going to find out, are they?

     And what's life without risks?  Mother had always told me I needed a hobby.

     I smile grimly.  Well, when I found that chest, I was right about one thing: my life is going to be _very_ different.  Yes, very different indeed.

**Warning:**** Hello readers- if you like this fic, and want more, review.  Sorry, I don't mean that to sound bad.  Ha, this isn't a threat or anything, it's just I don't know about continuing with this.  I'll most definitely get a chapter two up, but after that…there's just other fics I'm itching to start, and I don't know if this one's worth it.  I know the ending to it.  It could be good, so if you're interested let me know!  Thanks :)**


	2. Seeing Red

**Chapter Two**  _Seeing Red_

The castle definitely looks better from the inside.  Lavish furnishings, paintings, lush carpet and splendid architecture.  I'm following a line of young ladies; the new arrivals from the convent.  Most are excited, the rest look nervous or indifferent.  They all arrived in a pack of carriages before Jophad and I.  Good timing.  I don't look out of place at all, excepting, perhaps, my need to bathe.

      Now, thinking back to Moselle.  She obviously came here another year, and hasn't been married off yet.  Or else her husband works in the castle?  I doubt it.  She's pretty, but if I learnt anything from our encounter, then her personality is enough to scare away the hardiest of men.  I picture Moselle in spikes and leather, screaming bloody rage at any who dares face her.  I smile.

     We enter a wide hall full of couches, tables, bookshelves, decorations and _men_.  Seems like they've come to check out the fresh meat.  I narrow my eyes at this one guy staring at me.  He doesn't notice my expression, though- he isn't exactly looking at my face.  I replace my attention to the lady in front of me, feeling over exposed.  Gods, I shouldn't have to put up with this.  I huff, just in case anyone wants to know how annoyed I am, and break away from the line.  I walk at the starer.  He finally looks into my eyes.  He smiles.  I smile.  I stop one step in front of him.

     "Greetings, my lord," I say as huskily as possible.  "Seen anything interesting lately?"

     "Oh yes," he replies, without missing a beat.  "Some lovely mountains."

     I lock my hands behind my back.  Don'tslapdon'tslapdon'tslap.  "Indeed," I say.  "Well, I'm certainly looking forward to the Balls, but somehow I don't think I'll be finding any around here."

     His face lights up in amusement, but I turn back to the line of ladies before he can think up a reply to _that_.  I'm on a roll today.  I hear a crack of laughter as I stride away, my nose in the air, then the swishing of clothes as the young man catches up with me.

     "My lady!"  He says, keeping his mirth in check.  "Please stop.  Forgive me, but I meant no disrespect.  It's just...  I didn't know they still made women like you at the convent."

     I turn, hands on my hips.  "They don't," I tell him loftily.  "I was home-taught."

     He grins.  "Ah."

     A knot in my heart unties.  This man is on my side, not like Moselle.  I've always liked people who can take jokes.  I take the time to look at him properly.  I stand just below his shoulder.  He has dark hair, tanned skin, muscles and a regal appearance*.  Not that I am some sort of expert, but this one looks like a fighter.  Or one who could fight.  He is wearing a tunic with House colours, but I do not know what House it is.

     I hold out my hand to him, he takes it.  We both grasp firmly and shake.

     "I'm Bailey of Southsea."

     "Merric of Hollyrose."

     I smile.  "Pleasure to meet you, Sir."

     He bows elegantly and kisses my hand.  "My lady."

     This is fun!  I bob my head.  

     Something beyond my shoulder catches his eye, and he beckons.  A shorter, plumper man with a House tunic comes.

     "Bailey, this is Owen of Jesslaw.  Owen, this is Bailey of Southsea."

     He bows.  I figure I'm meant to do something, and curtsy.  Owen seems preoccupied, or bored, so I beam at him.  He grins and nods his head slightly.  _Now _we're more properly acquainted.

     "Have you come in from the convent?" he asks.

     "No, I was home-taught." 

     "She's not like the Convent ones," Merric adds.

     We chat about innocent things.  They tell me they are both knights.  Merric works at New Hope with Lady Kel herself, Owen- recently knighted- is awaiting orders.

     Eventually Owen dawdles away.  Merric turns to me, searching my eyes.

      "Might I be so bold, my lady," he says carefully, "as to ask you to tonight's Midwinter Ball?" 

     I don't think.  "Of course!  I'd love to!"

     He looks relieved.  "Then I'll escort you from you're room tonight-" he stops, and adds, "-if that's alright with you."

     I nod rapidly.

     "Ah, good.  Do you know where your rooms are?"

     This is handy.  "I have not been allocated rooms."

     He frowns, "Well, don't you worry about that.  I'll find you a place."

     "Thank you, you are too kind."  It seems like, ever since I stumbled upon that chest, my luck completely turned around.

     It's about time, too.  It has a lot of to make up for.

     I am absentmindedly brushing my fresh hair, looking at myself in the oval mirror.  Is this me?  Merric found me a great chamber; there's an east side window that looks over the gardens and the city beyond.  I'd love to see the sunrise from it.  In the centre of the room is a voluminous bed; underneath it is a red rug.  A bathroom connects to the main room with a privy and tub.  There is a cabinet with artistic carvings and on the north wall is a painting above the crackling fireplace.  And there's the table with the mirror that I am sitting at now.  I've spent over an hour playing with face paint.  I've settled with a subtle but effective look; pink lips, blackened eyelashes, rosy cheeks and skin-coloured powder.  I'm glad I never knew the power of this make-up when I couldn't have afforded it.

     There's a knock at the door.  I put down the brush.  Must be Merric.

     I open up, smiling brightly.  Outside is a dashing young man, groomed to perfection.  "Good evening, Merric"

     "Bailey, you look magnificent!"

     He's an ol' charmer!  I shrug, now grinning.  "It just can't be helped!"

     He laughs.  I take his proffered arm.  I shut my door and he leads me away through long hallways.  He makes conversation- and I just smile and nod- until I notice he's taking me to a line of the new convent ladies.  

     "What's this?"  I ask pleasantly.

     "Why, you've got to be presented of course," he tells me.

     "Presented?"

     "Yes...didn't you know?  I thought you were meant to practice it."

     I'm shaking my head, looking at the line dubiously and trying not to let my imagination get away with me.  What does he mean, presented?  And why does it need practice?

     "It's just where you descend the great staircase before the whole court.  I had your name added to the list.  You're last."

     I make him stop.  We're still a safe enough distance away from the line should I choose to run.  Heh.

     "It's nothing much," he says.

     Yeah.  Oh well.  You've gotta do what you gotta do.  "Yes- I do remember them telling me about this."  I press a hand to my heart and look up at Merric, "You had me worried for a moment there!"

     He smiles broadly.  It brightens up his entire face.  "So you'll be alright if I leave?  I'll be down in the court, watching you."

     I nod, focusing my attention back on the line.  His arm slips away.  I glance back at him over my shoulder and take a deep breath.  It's nothing much.  It's nothing much.  I line myself up.

     The girl in front spares a look at me.  If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's frightened.

     It's nothing much.  You've got to be presented.  It's just where you descend the great staircase before the whole court.  And just how many people are there in the whole court?

     Suddenly the huge double doors at the beginning of the line open up, casting golden light right down the passage.  I blink.  I hear a name called out from the other side of the doorway.  The line takes a step forward.  The presenting has started.

     I smother sick churnings in my stomach.  I'll be fine!  Just watch the others.  The line moves forward, one step at a time.  It seems we are being sent out one by one.  I listen to the names being announced.

     "Serille of Broadfields.  Daughter of..."

     What happens when everyone begins to realise they've never heard of Southsea?  I sigh.  Tortall is a big place.  And like anyone would be paying heaps of attention, anyway.  But I'm going to attract that attention when my parents' names aren't read out.  I'll have to deal with that later.  

     The line is incredibly slow.  As I get closer to the doors I find out why.  Another lady is called.  She walks through the doorway, continues to the edge of the large platform then descends the stairs.  Her head dips out of view.  Soon I can see her again, but now she's on the ground-floor, far below, walking along a red carpet to a throne, seating a man draped in finery.  King Jonathan.  The lady curtsies low and solemnly.  Gods.  I'm going to have to do that?  The lady in front of me is gripping her skirts.  Is that sweat I smell, entwined with all the perfumes?

     The fourth last person is announced.  I stifle a yawn.  I take the infuriatingly small step forward.  I'm not nervous anymore.  I just want to get the damn thing over with.

     The third last lady is now floating down the steps.  This is all quite tedious.  I wonder when the interesting stuff begins... 

     Without warning, the lady in front of me spins around and knocks past me!  Where's she going!  I leap towards her, grab her wrist with both my hands and whip her back around.

     "Where are you going?"  I hiss.

     She gives me the appalled look only a badly handled noble can bestow, and tries to tug her arm from my mighty grip.  Good luck.  "I'm going to be sick!" she says urgently, her voice trembling.  She uses her weight to try break free.

     I feel her skin twisting beneath my fingers.  She does look a little worse for wear.  "No, you'll be fine," I say.  "It's just a little walk and a curtsy, nothing to worry about."

     She regards me.  Her bottom lip shakes and her blonde hair is fraying and escaping its pins.  I smile lightly and reach around the back of her head.  She flinches as I remove her hair ties.  Her hair bounces down her back.

     "Now you're beautiful," I say.  I hope this is encouraging her. 

     "Joanatai of Stoneridge.  Daughter of Lord Ashelton and Lady Minara."

     The lady whimpers and shakes her head like she can't believe this is happening.  But I'm not about to go out for her.  I place a hand on her back and press her forward.  She resists.  She's weak.  I propel her through the doorway, crying, "Make 'em proud!"

     She stumbles into the view of the court and freezes.  I hold my breath.  Hair slips from her shoulders and settles into the curves of her back.  You could hear a fly belch, until she finally regains some sort of consciousness.  Her hands lower to her thighs.  She lifts her chin, rolls her shoulders, straightens and takes a step forward.  And another.  I can breathe again.  She descends the steps, slowly, like she's soaking up the atmosphere- or letting the atmosphere soak up her.  Her back is still in view when she suddenly jerks sideways and vanishes.  I hear hollow thuds, one after the other.  The crowd gasps.  I hear male laughter.  

     Oh gods.  

     She tripped!  

     I pick up my skirts and rush to the edge of the staircase, ignoring the shocked announcer.  I look down.  Joanatai is sprawled, upside down, over several steps.  Skirts smother her face.  Petticoats are a mess.  I gasp, but not at all from sympathy.  Joanatai's legs are flailing, her arms no less humorous.  She overbalances herself and topples down the remaining steps to the first landing.  She rolls onto her stomach.  Sculpted fingernails tear away the skirt-envelope from her face.  She looks left, right, and straight up at me.  Her face flares up; I see little horns sprouting from her skull.  Smoke practically billows from her nostrils.  She looks quite the murderous little noble.  And like I'm to blame!  Really!  Eyes narrow.  That's done it.  I burst out laughing.

     I stagger back through the doorway, holding my stomach to stop it from exploding.  The wall catches my fall.  Tears drip.  There goes the eye paint.  I laugh all the harder.  Her petticoats!  Oh and her dress!  She looked like a teacup with legs!  I slide down the wall and bring my knees to my face.  My stomach is starting to ache.  Oooh, okay.  Breathe in.  One, two.  Breathe out.  One...two.  In, and out.  Okay, okay.  I think I'm right.

     A teacup!

     I laugh all over again.  Oh, the pain.  The pain!  My stomach cramps.  Stop.  Stop laughing- you'll die.  Just...breathe...

     Alright.  I'm fine now.  Everything is under control...

     "BAILEY OF SOUTHSEA!"

     I jump.  Oh gods!  How many times has he announced me?  I creep up the wall; my legs were in an uncomfortable position.  I even out my dress, put my left sleeve back where it should be and wipe the moisture off my face.  It leaves a black smudge on my hand.  I stride towards the door whilst finger-combing my hair.  I let my hands drop as soon as I step through.  I stop at the first step.  An awed curse escapes my lips as I behold the throng.  'Tis almost as big as the bad vibe I'm getting.  I must look a fool.  I regard the steps below me.  It's at least one- _two_ hundred.  I stick one foot over the edge.  _Thud_, it lands.  I lift my second foot.  _Thud_.  That's two steps down.  

     I just heard a baby in Scanra sniffle.

     A fly belched.

     _Thud_.

     This is silly!  We'll be here till the harvests if I keep walking this dramatically.  I give myself a mental slap-in-the-face and begin a normal pace.  I keep an eye on the steps; I don't want the same fate as poor Joanatai.  Where is she?

     Merric.  What will he think of me now?

     My feet are starting to get the gist of it, and I chance a look through the crowds.  There's too many to find one person.  My eye catches a waving hand at the front.  Merric?  No: it's Moselle!  That little...my stomach twists.  She's just so smug!  It must give her pleasure watching me in my crumpled dress and ruined face-paints.  Anger keeps my mind off the rest of the descent.  I keep my eyes on Moselle's until doing so would mean turning around.  I forget her and focus on the throne ahead.  There's the King.  He's wearing a blood-red cloak, a blue shirt and black pants.  I can't tell what materials they're made from, but they sure look nice.  Queen Thayet sits by his side.  They were right: she is beautiful.  She's wearing a dress of deep blue, like the night sky.  It is sprinkled with shining stones that glisten like stars.  Perhaps they are diamonds.  I've heard of diamonds.   

     And now I am standing before them.  They're quite an intimidating pair.  I swallow.  They're going to see right through me.  I pinch the sides of my skirts and hold them up as I practically fall to one knee.  I stay there a moment, my head down- giving them a lovely view of my scalp.  This must be long enough; I stretch up.  The monarchs are expressionless.  I glance into Thayets' eyes; the corner of her mouth twitches.  What a relief!  I can handle them thinking I'm amusing.  Or perhaps the queen felt like being polite or reassuring to the odd one.

     Sigh!  Well, at least it's over and done with.  I turn to the side and walk through the crowd.  People edge away from me.  I hope they're just making way.

     "Ladies, Gentlemen: good evening," says a male voice that rings through the hall.  "I am happy to announce the beginning of the first Midwinter Ball."

     I stop and peek around somebody's shoulder.  It's Big Jon talking.  He's quite the public speaker.

     "May the next seven days bring happiness and prosperity.  Midwinter Luck, everyone!"

     The crowd claps delicately, and once the king is seated, they migrate in ten different directions.  I'm forced to move.  I dodge around people too tall to notice me, until I finally get into some open space.  This has been an interesting night, I must say.  Now, where is that Merric?  How on earth are we going to find each other? 

     "Bailey of Southsea.  We meet again."

     That's Moselle, behind me.  I school my face into a more dignified expression and turn.

     "Well, well, well," I say.  "What a pleasant surprise."

     "Indeed," she says, stepping closer.  There's her small pack of women at her back.

     "Oh look!"  I say, waving a hand at the pack.  "You brought your daughters!  And to think I only cooked for two!"

     She bores into my eyes.  "They are my friends, actually.  But don't worry, no one expects you to know what _those_ are."

     Bitch.  "Oh dear.  But I could have sworn!  It's just with your age an all..."

     "Just what I suspected.  You're a blind little worm.  But I mean, how else would you wind up coming here in such an awful outfit, for I know that your room would have mirrors."

     Ji-beh-cah-wa!  I'll get her!  "Whaddo ye know about worms!"  Dammit.  I just let some country-talk slip through.

     She laughs and claps her hands.  "I think I just found out another tradition of Southsea!  They speak like peasants when angry, AND they seem to know about worms.  So go on, tell me allllll about worms.  I'm _ever_ so_ fascinated_."

     "So you should be!  Ladies really should know about their relatives!"     

     She ignites; her hand comes down and delivers a stinging slap.  "You insult my House!"

     My cheek is burning.  I shove her.  "You insult _mine_!" 

     "I demand satisfaction from you!"

     "You can't demand satisfaction from me- I demand satisfaction from _you_!"

     "_Indeed_?"

     "Indeed!"

     "Ladies!  Ladies, please..."  Hands yank me backwards and a man steps between my rival and me.

     "Out of the way, Owen," I yell, recognising the short, plump man.

     "Not until you two sort out your differences."

     "We were," I growl.  Whoops, I didn't mean to sound so angry.

     "Non-violently," he amends.

     I try to pull out of the hands of the person behind me.  They hold tight.

     "Let.  Go."  I warn my captor.

     "Only if you promise not to rip off the nice lady's head," the person says.

     I glance over my shoulder.  My stomach twists; it's Merric.  

     "Why?"  I ask him.  "It would be an improvement."

     He sighs and lets go.  I shake my arms and glare at Moselle.  Another man holds her back.  Merric takes my wrist.  "Maybe we should go."  He doesn't wait for an answer, just pulls me away.      

     "Everything was under control," I grumble.

     "Not from where I was standing."

     He takes me to long tables laden with all sorts of mouth-watering delicacies. 

     "I got you a place next to me," Merric says.  He sits me at a part of one table where several fit, young men relax.  They greet me.  I keep my face tight; lips pinched.  It's all I can do to stop myself screaming.  Owen comes and drops next to Merric. 

     "What were you doing back there?"  He asks me as he gathers food.

     I scrutinise him.  Finally, "Oh, just catching up with an old friend." 

     "I see."

     I drop my head so as not to let him see my expression.  I'm as sour as a lemon.

     That bitter taste in my mouth almost ruined the best meal I ever had.  No wonder people starve- all the food comes here.  

     Unfortunately, the men are fun.  They joke and tease to the point it's hard to stay mad- still: I'm determined.  I want to stay angry forever.  Moselle better watch out should we meet again.  I'll strangle her, the rich brat that she is.

     "Bailey, would you honour me with a dance?"

     Huh?  Now what's Merric on about?  "A dance?"  I ask from behind a napkin.

     He stands and holds out his hand.  I stare at it.  Slowly my eyes travel up his arm to his broad shoulders, charming smile and twinkling eyes.  My heartbeat quickens.

     "Sure," I hear myself say.

     Suddenly I'm amidst the dancers.  Merric stands in front of me.  I blink at his chest and, breaking my own trance, veer away my eyes.   

     My eyes long to travel him.  What?  Bloody maidens...I do not need this now.  I'm not supposed to like him.

     Such thoughts stream away when he steps on my foot.

     I hiss.  He laughs and apologises, says he thought I was ready to start.  Am I ready now?

     Oh..._shit_.  I can't dance!  If someone were to ask me, at this moment, something that had happened in the past hour- I wouldn't be able to answer.  I gape at Merric, but he's watching the dancers.   

     "Here's a gap.  Ready?"

     "Umm...Merric?"

      "Two.  One."  He draws me close and into the flock we spin.

      I'm in trouble.  

~ ~ ~ 

_"He has dark hair, tanned skin, muscles and a regal appearance"_ *Not sure if that's a good description of Merric.


End file.
